


Catch Me If I Fall

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-18 19:32:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2359682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of "Down Among the Fearful", James is having a difficult time.  But Lewis doesn't want him to struggle alone.  Spoilers for "Down Among the Fearful" and "The Way Through the Woods."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

He's steadily drinking himself to the bottom of a bottle later, trying to come up with a single reason why he should stay in the force - other than not wanting to leave Lewis - when his boss knocks on the door. 

He knows it's Lewis. No-one else's knock sounds like that. Confident, determined, _I know you're in there and I'm not going away._

And Lewis will know he's here. There are lights on, and his car's outside.

Much as he'd like to hide, there's no point. Lewis won't leave until he gets an answer, and since his boss has a key, James sets down his glass and goes to open the door.

Lewis is casually dressed, and empty-handed - no beer tonight, then, and it's not work either. With a nod, he lets James lead him into the flat. James offers coffee; it's a deflection as much as it is good manners. Putting off the inevitable, when Lewis tells him what he's doing here. Whatever it is, it's probably not going to be something he's ready for, or wants to hear, tonight.

They've just about exhausted James's supply of small talk when Lewis leans forward and turns to James. "Feel like I let you down today, man."

Automatically, he denies it. "Of course you didn't, sir."

"Yeah, I did. Knew it, too." Lewis's mouth turns down at the edges. "You're thinking of handing in your papers again."

He doesn't answer; he can't deny it, and Lewis will know what his silence means. 

"Thing is, what I can't work out is whether it's Vicki Walmsley, almost dying today, or whatever it is that's been eating away at you for months. Or all of the above."

He sighs and throws his head back. "All of the above."

"Mmm. Thought as much." Lewis shifts a bit closer. "I never know whether I should ask, y'know."

"Ask?" He can't look at Lewis. If he does, he won't be able to hide any more.

"I joke about things. Makes them... less significant. Learned that with Morse, in a way, and it worked with Val sometimes, too. Seems to work with you sometimes, but not always. I've known it, but don't do anything about it."

James can only nod. He knew, or suspected, Lewis was aware of the dissonance. Coping mechanisms, yes, and Lewis can't cope with actually talking things through - though, if he's honest, he's not the best at it either. 

"I wasn't listening earlier, lad," Lewis says, his voice very gentle. "I am now, if it's not too late."

What comes out of James's mouth surprises even James. "I didn't die, did I? Promise me I'm not dead."

Lewis looks startled for a moment, shocked, but then his expression softens. "No, you're not dead."

But that's cut too close to the core of what James is upset about, and he stands quickly, turns away so Lewis can't see how shaken he is. Being more than slightly drunk doesn't help his emotional control either. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

He doesn't even have to look to feel Lewis hesitating behind him. "Can I do something?"

James has one arm covering his stomach, hand holding the elbow of his other arm, which crosses his body diagonally. It's a posture that's at once an attempt at self-comfort and a scream of discomfort. "What?"

Lewis crosses to stand in front of him. "Could you do with a hug?"

James nods, and Lewis steps forward to embrace him. The hug is solid and comforting and thoroughly Lewis, and something inside James breaks.

"I don't want to die," he whispers, crumpling forward.

Lewis's arms tighten round him. "I don't want you to."

He clings, and something tightly coiled inside him starts to release. Just a bit - there's far too much, he's far too... messed up, really, for a few minutes of kindness from Lewis to undo. But this, this is what he needed, and never imagined he could have.

And he knows Lewis doesn't want him to die. Didn't want it. He heard the sheer terror in Lewis's voice back there in the market, and the overwhelming relief when Lewis saw him move, heard him speak, and saw him take off the collar to show the syringe hadn't penetrated.

"Thank you," he manages, head buried in Lewis's shoulder.

"You're all right." Lewis's hand moves in gentle circles over his back. And they stay like that for another couple of minutes, until James pulls back. He can't outstay his welcome in Lewis's arms.

They sit together on the couch again, closer this time. "You don't have to tell me about it," Lewis says after a moment. "But if you want to, I'll listen. Whenever. It's not just a one-time offer. Okay?"

He nods. Something's making it difficult for him to speak, and he's not sure anyway whether he could actually talk to Lewis about this, about... everything. But it's enough to know that Lewis would let him.

"I..." He hesitates, and then, without conscious intent, he says, "I can't sleep."

"No?" Lewis offers softly.

James shakes his head. "It's too much. All of it." He reaches out and clasps Lewis's hand in his. "I'm sorry. I'm letting you down, but it's not enough. You are, you have been, but I can't. I just can't."

"I'm not sure I follow," Lewis says, and his voice is so gentle. So kind.

"I'm leaving you."

"In what way?"

James stares longingly at the bottle but doesn't partake. "I can't be a police officer. Too many things go wrong. I'm falling apart into little… little pieces…" He's not explaining this very well. His eyes fill with tears at the impossibility of saying what's in his head. "It's been all day and I'm still frightened, and I'll wake up tomorrow and be frightened, and I can't live like this any more, I'm sorry, I can't."

"Oh, lad." Without warning, but oh, so welcome, a strong arm loops around his shoulders, and he's tugged back into Lewis's warm embrace. "You're not letting me down, James. You couldn't."

James can't answer. He buries his face in Lewis's shoulder again, and grips his boss's hand tighter. 

"If you have to resign, lad, then you have to. I'd never try to stop you if it's what you need. I'll miss working with you, but that doesn't matter. _You_ matter." 

"I'm sorry," is all he can say.

"Don't be." Lewis's arm tightens. "You're alone too much, lad. If you'd had anyone to talk to... or if I'd seen what was happening with you sooner..." Lewis's head comes to rest against James's. "You need some time away. Whatever you decide, I'll back you up - with Innocent, with everything - but you need a break, away from here an' everything that's happened."

"I can't get away." His voice is muffled, and Lewis lets him know he can't quite follow what he's saying, so he moves his head a bit. "I can't get away from it. It's in my head, all the time. Every time I close my eyes, I see... I can't stop thinking. I can't shut it off. I..." He closes his eyes, and instantly sees Vicki pleading, Kathryn Dutta with her syringe, everyone else he's let down. "I can't."

Lewis is silent for long enough that James is just waiting for him to make his excuses and leave. This is the last thing Lewis needs: his bagman having a nervous breakdown.

Then, slowly, he says, "Would it help if I came with you?"

James stares at Lewis, not sure what he's asking or what it means. "Sorry?"

"You said it's there when you close your eyes," Lewis says. "What if I'm with you when you close your eyes?"

"My eyes are closed. I won't be able to see you," James points out.

Lewis pulls a face, possibly to hide a smile. "Aye, I know that. But… you could… maybe tell me what you see? And I'll keep talking to you, maybe touching your hand or keeping close to you, so you can picture me there with you."

"Sometimes you're there, but it's not…"

"Not what?" Lewis prompts when James doesn't continue.

"It's you from all the times I've let you down," James whispers, shame hot and painful in his stomach. Or maybe that's the alcohol.

"James. Look at me."

James does, reluctantly.

"This is a me you haven't let down," Lewis says firmly. "All right?"

"But I—"

"Now, in this moment, at this time, you haven't let me down. I'm here with you to help you. If I come with you into the things you see in your mind, it's to… help. To keep the… dark things at bay." He pauses, weighs his words, then says softly, "You haven't failed me, and I don't want to fail you."

James rests his head on Lewis's shoulder. _I've never had anyone to protect me before_. He's not sure if he says it aloud or not.

"I'm here," Lewis repeats. "I'm not going anywhere. So you can close your eyes and be safe. And if you can't talk, that's all right."

He wants to believe it. So he closes his eyes... and again he sees everything he doesn't want to see, including Lewis from that horrible day all those years ago. _I don't want to see you._

He must have said something, or shivered, because Lewis's hand squeezes his, and his other hand strokes James's hair. "I'm here. I'm not leaving you. You're a good man, James. One of the best I've known."

It's not true; it can't be. Yet Lewis has never lied to him. So he keeps his eyes shut and rests against his boss, trusting him to stay, to keep the darkness away.

* * *

His neck aches, and there's a heavy weight on his head. He stirs, and feels the weight move, and that's when he realises. He fell asleep on the couch, against Lewis's shoulder. "Should..." His voice sounds rough, barely awake. "You should go home. This'll kill your back, sir."

"Promised I wouldn't leave you, an' I meant it." Lewis's voice is still gentle, yet strong and reassuring. "Your couch isn't the best for two of us sleeping, though. What about if I lie on top of your bed, next to you? Would that do?"

He's about to protest - he can't ask that of Lewis, it's not fair - but then he sees his boss's face. Lewis means it, that's clear. But besides that, there's worry and affection all over his boss's craggy features. And it occurs to him that, if he insists on sending Lewis home, it's quite likely that his governor will spend the rest of the night worrying about him.

"Is that all right?" James asks quietly.

Lewis's expression becomes less worry and more affection. "Course it is. I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to."

James nods, trying and failing to get to his feet. "I might… need some help."

"Of course," Lewis says, helping James stand and guiding him carefully to the bedroom.

James flops almost bonelessly onto the bed with a grunt of relief. Much better. He turns to his side, and suddenly, there's Lewis, slipping off his shoes and climbing onto the bed.

"Where do you want me?" Lewis asks quietly.

James reaches out to Lewis. "With me."

Slowly, carefully, Lewis scoots closer, hugging James gently. "Better?"

James sags in relief at the continued warmth and affection, soaking it in hungrily. "Safe," he murmurs.

* * *

He sleeps. It's completely unexpected, but the next thing he knows he's waking up and aware of a strong, firm arm around his torso, and his own hand gripping his companion in turn. And a familiar voice saying, "Morning, lad."

"Sir...!" He tries to sit up, so that he's not clinging like a limpet to his boss. "Erm... good morning."

"Stay where you are, man." Lewis's arm doesn't move. "You're all right. Sent Innocent a message last night, before I came over, telling her we were both taking the morning off. Thought we could do with a few hours' extra rest."

"It's very kind of you, sir - not just that, but staying last night." Now that he's sober, and the morning sunlight is trying to break in through his bedroom curtains, he's starting to squirm with embarrassment at the way he behaved last night. The things he said to Lewis. The way he clung to him.

"You're all right," Lewis says, and his hand moves gently up and down against James's side. "Told you, I'm not leaving you. I want to help."

"You have, sir. More than you could imagine." He stares up at the ceiling, tempted to pinch himself to prove this is really happening. "I didn't dream at all last night."

"I'm glad." Lewis's hand slides down and grips James's. "Don't like to think of you not able to stop thinking about the bad stuff."

_I don't think about it if you're here_. But he can't say that. Instead, he shifts on the bed so that he's looking straight at Lewis. "You said... I should tell you."

"You should. Only if you can, mind." Lewis's face is so unbelievably kind, and the warm grip of his hand grounds James, helping him feel secure in a way he hasn't for so very long.

"Yesterday. When I... when she almost killed me. I was... terrified."

"So was I." Lewis's eyes are sober, and his hand grips James's tighter. "Thought I'd lost you, man. Thought I was going to have to stand there an' watch you just... go."

"But," he continues, and pauses, struggling to find the words, "I keep feeling... imagining... that she didn't miss. That every breath I take could be the last."

What surprises James about Lewis's response is that he isn't surprised. He simply nods.

"Keep expecting fate to turn round and nick you any minute?" Lewis asks.

James nods silently. That's it exactly.

Lewis sighs softly. "Yeah, I remember that."

James frowns at Lewis. "What… what do you mean?"

Lewis is silent for a long time. "Once… a long time ago… I was working a case with Morse and… I got on the wrong side of the murderer. She…" He pauses, evidently to calm himself, then continues. "She had a gun. Took me and one of her victims into the woods. Made me dig a grave for him… and one for me. Told me to turn round so she could shoot me in the back."

James had had no idea. "God," he whispers. "What happened?"

"I didn't die," Lewis says. "Clearly. But… it took a long while to realise I was safe again." He touches James's arm. "People aren't built to shake off things like that. None of us can." He gives him a rueful smile. "Makes life a bit nasty in the meantime though."

James nods. "How do you keep it from playing in your mind? How do you stop wondering… whether you really did live through it?"

"You find the people you care about," Lewis says quietly. "You keep them close by. And you let them help you when you need it, because you can't manage on your own. I know. I've tried it. It doesn't wash. Eventually, they help bring you out of your mind and back into the world."

But he doesn't have anyone else. There's only Lewis, and he can't burden his boss with this. And anyway, that's not what Lewis meant, is it? _You find the people you care about_. He doesn't need to find Lewis, because he's already here, so...

"I see, sir," he answers, trying to sound perfectly normal, perfectly calm. "I'll try to do that, then. Thank you."

"You sound like you're trying to send me away, not keep me close." Unbelievably, there's a note of amusement in Lewis's voice. "Unless you're trying to tell me I'm not someone you care about? Though, if there's someone else, someone you'd be more comfortable with...?"

"I..." He looks away. The relief that Lewis _is_ including himself here... "No. But I can't ask—"

"You're not asking, man. I'm offering. Already did, remember? So, takeaway at mine tonight? And I meant what I said last night about going away for a few days. Think it'd do you good to get away from Oxford for a bit — and if you think you won't be able to escape the bad thoughts on your own, why don't we go somewhere together?"

James is so surprised he doesn't self-censor in the way he normally does. "You would do that?"

Lewis looks… resigned at that. Almost sad. "Don't think much of me, do you?"

"Of course I do," James says quietly. _I think the world of you_. "It's just…you must have other things to tend to, and…"

"No," Lewis says, voice firm. "I know you're keen on self-deprecation and that, but not today, lad. You're most important right now. There's no contest."

The thought warms James, makes him feel like there's a helium balloon lifting his mood. Maybe it's not lifting much at the moment, but it is lifting. There's no denying that.

"I'd like to get takeaway at your place tonight," James says quietly. "And… I'd very much like to go somewhere with you, if the offer stands."

"Of course it does," Lewis says, patting his arm. "Think about where you'd like to go… somewhere crowded maybe, lots of people, lots of distractions, or somewhere quiet, maybe with lots of nature and lots of silence. Either's all right with me."

* * *

It takes a couple of weeks to organise - Innocent wants the Dutta paperwork all finalised before they go - but finally they're tidying their desks on the last day before their holiday.

It's been easier, these past couple of weeks. Oh, James isn't over his near-death experience, or his guilt at failing to do more to help Vicki Walmsley, but it's helped having Lewis around to talk to - or just be with, most of the time. They don't do much talking, really. But they don't need to; mostly, a look or a touch is enough. 

For the first few nights, he stayed at Lewis's flat, sleeping on the couch. Lewis, the kind man that he is, actually offered to let James share his bed, so that he'd be close if James had a nightmare or couldn't sleep at all. But he couldn't possibly inconvenience Lewis that much. In the end, they'd agreed that he'd come and wake Lewis up if things got bad - and, in fact, he'd ended up sleeping fairly well most of the time. Even the occasional nightmare wasn't as bad as they had been. And so, after those initial nights spent at Lewis's, he'd started going back to his own place to sleep, though they'd still spent the evenings together. 

Lewis had made him promise two things: to phone just before he went to sleep, and that he'd phone if he had any kind of trouble during the night. He kept the first promise, and if he didn't exactly keep the second... well, one nightmare, culminating with Lewis walking away from him, doesn't really count, does it? It was only the once, after all.

Lewis pats his shoulder as they leave the building. "See you at mine in a bit, yeah?" They're both spending the night at Lewis's, so they can leave first thing in the morning. They're driving to Holyhead to get the car-ferry to Dublin, and they'll spend a week driving around parts of Ireland, staying in B&Bs as they go. Neither of them has been, and Lewis seems to be as enthusiastic about the idea as James is.

He's not sure that this time away - time spent with a friend, as Lewis has described it more than once - will make any difference to his feelings about staying in the police, but it will help him in other ways. Is already helping him: he knows now that, if he can bring himself to talk about the spectres that haunt his dreams, Lewis will listen, and will _hear_. All James has to do is actually speak out - though that's easier said than done.

Maybe he'll manage it on holiday.


	2. Chapter 2

James puts his book away and prepares to stretch out on Lewis's couch. He looks at Lewis with a grin. "Still want me to phone you?"

"Smartarse," Lewis says lightly. "No, you don't have to phone me, but if you want to talk, we can." He sits on the edge of the sofa, already made up for bed, by James's feet. "How have things been?"

"Better," James says.

"I've had no phone calls from you, so I'm assuming no nightmares?"

James doesn't answer at first, because he doesn't want to lie. But Lewis is looking at him as if he sees through all James’s defences. So he settles for relating the least... personal of the incidents. "Something… happened in my flat this morning."

Lewis nods. "What sort of something? Like a flashback?"

James shakes his head. "Someone in the upstairs flat dropped something. Made a sudden noise. I was flat on my stomach on the floor before I'd known I was going to do that."

Lewis nods. "That can be part of it. Being startled easily."

"Well, I want it to stop," James says.

Lewis scoots closer and rests a hand on James's shoulder. "You know I would do that for you if I could."

"I know. And I'm not blaming you. If anything, I'm blaming myself."

"Why do you have to blame anyone at all? Something frightening happened, and it still bothers you. That's just being human, James."

"I don't like being human," James mutters, feeling the urge to pull his legs to his chest and wrap his arms around them, to make himself into a little ball like a hedgehog does.

"Sometimes none of us do," Lewis says. "Doesn't stop it happening, though. Unless you've got some bionic brain in the cupboard."

James manages a smile at that. "Circuit-boards aren't really my forte."

"Well then," Lewis says.

James leans forward, then hesitates.

Lewis notices. "What?"

"Can… could…?" James can feel his face reddening. "Would you mind if I hugged you goodnight?"

"Course not," Lewis says, moving in for a warm hug.

James closes his eyes and lets the comfort wash over him. This is what seems to help most.

* * *

He sleeps well tonight: no nightmares, no panic attacks, no periodic awakenings. And when he wakes in the morning at six, he feels rested. 

Whether it's spending the night in Lewis's flat, or the hug before he went to bed, or the knowledge that he doesn't have to go to work and face the possibility of crime scenes and routine danger for an entire week, he has no way of knowing. He's just grateful for it.

He has breakfast ready by the time Lewis appears — toast, scrambled eggs with chopped ham, and grilled tomatoes — and his boss is both surprised and appreciative. "You can sleep here every night if you keep this up," Lewis quips. "Mind, probably wouldn't do me waistline any good."

"Or your cholesterol levels," James points out. "Though I can do healthy breakfasts as well." Only when he's said it does he realise that his words could be interpreted as angling for invitations to stay, and of course Lewis was only joking. Bugger.

They're on the road by seven; their fast ferry leaves Holyhead for Dublin at shortly before midday. James has prepared: travel mugs of coffee sit in the cup-holders, and he has playlists on his iPod. He's settled comfortably in the passenger seat, tapping his fingers to the music, by the time they're on the M40.

"Dunno when I've last seen you look this relaxed," Lewis comments, glancing sideways at him. "It's good to see."

He smiles, and it's a genuine smile, not just one put on to make Lewis believe that he's okay. "I feel it. It's... nice."

"You any closer to making a decision about the job?" Lewis sounds nothing but concerned for James, but the knowledge that his boss would make it easy for him to resign just makes him feel worse about contemplating it.

He sighs. "No."

"What's holding you back? Would it help to talk about it?" 

Now he's not feeling so relaxed. But everything Lewis has been telling him over the past couple of weeks about not keeping things inside is getting through. "Maybe." He drums his fingers on his knee, takes a deep breath, and tells the truth. "It'd be an easy decision, except that I know I'd be letting you down, and that's the last thing I want to do."

"Me? I'm what's stopping you? You're joking, man!" 

"I'm perfectly serious, sir. I know you won't say it, but you don't want me to resign. And you've got - what, two or three years left before you retire? I know you don't want to have to train up another bagman before then."

Lewis glances at him again, expression rueful. "No, I don't, but that's not your problem, James. An' we're on holiday. No sirs, please." He taps the steering wheel, then says, with a faint smile, "You never asked how I ended up in Oxford."

He didn't - and he has wondered. "I suppose I didn't think it was any of my business."

Lewis snorts. "That's never stopped you before. Anyway. I never thought I'd leave Newcastle. Met Val up there - she was from Oxford, but after her parents divorced her mum moved back up north. So we got married, an' then our Lyn was born. And then the miners' strike happened. 1984, for those too young to remember it," he adds with a smirk. "Newcastle was one of the strongest areas for the miners' union. Now, I didn't have any pit-workers in my family, but of course I had friends in the industry, an' some of our neighbours, and other people we knew... It was hard, seeing what they were going through. But as the strike intensified an' things got more political, it started to split the community. I was a DC in Vice at the time, and I was glad of it, because I didn't get sent out to the picket lines. That was bloody rough on the officers who had to do it - linin' up against their neighbours, our own community. Sometimes arresting them. That's why they started sending coppers from outside the area."

James nods. He's aware of the miners' strike, that awful year of struggle between traditional working-class values and the concept of society as one which took care of its members, and the newer, more aggressive form of capitalism that slashed and destroyed to increase profits.

"I loved me work in Vice. Felt I was doing good for Newcastle, cleaning up organised prostitution an' helping kids start better lives. Then people started shouting at Val when she was out with Lyn in her pram. Married to a traitor copper. I'd been getting a bit of that already, but I ignored it. Val couldn't. An' we started to worry about what'd happen later - it was obvious that things weren't going to go well, an' I thought about Lyn in school with kids whose dads didn't have jobs any more, an' Val mixing with other parents. And Val'd always wanted to go back to Oxford, so when she asked me to apply for a transfer I said yes. Felt bad about leavin' me team, an' I knew they didn't want me to go, but I had to do what was right for me family."

James nods. Of course; it was an obvious decision, and he should have put two and two together on the timing before now.

"Just like you have to do what's right for you, lad. If you need to go, you go. I'll survive. Just as long as you stay in touch, yeah?"

"You… really?"

Lewis just gives James a slightly sad look.

"What?" James asks, wondering what Lewis saw… what Lewis is thinking.

Lewis shakes his head. "You seem to find it pretty hard to believe someone might like you."

James shrugs. When he's been left to choose his own friends, his sense of who is trustworthy is shockingly terrible. He chose Zoe. He chose Scarlett. One used his trust in her to try to murder him; the other used his trust in her to try to protect her father. Neither was trustworthy, and neither thought very much of him, despite how things had seemed. After Scarlett, he hasn't tried again. If someone he's known and cared for since childhood could fool him so thoroughly and use him so ill, what chance does he have to accurately judge the trustworthiness of someone he's meeting now?

He does, however, trust Lewis. And not just because he fought for James in both those situations. Because he's honourable in a way James isn't, and in a way Zoe and Scarlett never even began to approach.

"Didn't answer me question," Lewis says.

James shakes his head. "Sorry. What?"

"Will you keep in touch?"

James nods slowly. "Yes. I'd like to."

"You won't be working with me, but you'll still be here. So we'll be able to have a pint and a laugh like we usually do," Lewis says. "Unless… you're thinking of going somewhere else?"

"I don't know what I'm thinking of doing," James admits. "The only thing I know is that police work has been weighing on me, and I don't know if I can manage it any more."

"All police work? Or just the sort you've been doing?"

Lewis's question is a shock, because it's so obvious and yet he never thought of asking himself that. "You mean I should consider roles outside CID?"

"Yeah. Or in CID but something like Fraud. Or maybe some of the specialist divisions that deal with art theft. Anywhere you wouldn't be stumbling across dead bodies at three in the morning." Or almost getting killed on the job; he knows Lewis has deliberately omitted that.

"I'm an idiot," he says, shaking his head. "I should have thought of that myself. There are things I do like," he explains. "Unravelling the mystery. Following trails wherever they lead. Piecing together the evidence."

"Yeah, an' you're good at it, too. You've got the kind of analytical brain that works well with that stuff. You'd do well in Fraud, or in cybercrime."

"And you'd be all right with me moving to a different division? It'd probably be a different nick," James says, a bit doubtfully. "If there weren't any vacancies, I might have to apply to a different force."

"Once you've made up your mind, let me talk to Innocent. I know she'll want to keep you." Lewis sounds far more confident than James feels. "As for me, what I care about most is that you're happy - an' that I don't have to worry about you not having an income. Not that I want you staying in a job you hate just for that reason, but I'd worry if you left without having something else to go to."

"That's... kind of you," he begins, but Lewis cuts across him.

"James, for Christ's sake! Can you please stop behaving like everything I say is out of some sort of obligation? I _like_ you. Thought you knew that. You're not just me bagman, you're me best mate, and of course I want you to be happy. Just like you want your friends to be happy."

What friends? But Lewis is wrong. It's not that he believes everything Lewis has done for him over the past couple of weeks is from a sense of duty. He knows it's not. The problem is that he knows he doesn't deserve the kindness his boss is showing him.

"You don't believe me?" Lewis asks quietly.

"No, I do, I do believe you," James says quickly. 

"Then what?"

James doesn't know if he can say it aloud. He doesn't know if he should. "I… I haven't…" He's not looking at Robbie, but he can feel his raised eyebrows. "I haven't earned it."

"Oh, James." Lewis's voice is gentle. Reproachful.

James hurries to recover. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that… what I meant was…"

"That's not how this works, lad. You don't have to earn me liking you. I already do," Lewis says. "What do you think you'd have to do to earn…?"

"I'd have to do something for you. Anything. I'd like to, actually. It would make me feel better if I could contribute something to your life the way you do to mine," James says, the words rushing out of him before he can change his mind.

"You really don't know."

"Don't know what?"

"You have contributed. James, you… I didn't know what it would be like, being back in Oxford. But you immediately reached out to me, even when… dunno if you remember…I wasn't even all that nice to you. And not only that. You were always there. When I stumbled, I didn't even have to call you; you were already there. You think that's not contributing?"

"I never thought of it like that." James shakes his head. "It just seemed so... wrong... that a man like you, who's so kind and does so much for others, should have had to go through so much pain. I... there was so little I could do, but I did whatever I could."

"Might feel like little to you, man, but to me... I reckon it made the difference between staying on the job an' actually getting better, and packin' it all in six months after I got back. But it's not just back then. You've been a bloody marvellous friend to me all along." Lewis focuses on the road for a moment, as they merge with the M42. "Honestly, lad, if you really need me to itemise everything you've done for me, we'd be in Holyhead before I was even a quarter-way through. Just take my word for it, yeah?"

James sits in near-stunned silence as Lewis’s words sink in. It's a complete perception-shift, tilting everything he thought he understood on its axis. If Lewis is telling the truth in this - and why wouldn't he be? He's never lied to James, in contrast to James's own behaviour - then everything James has believed about himself and his relationship with this man is wrong. And he's been an idiot, to put it mildly.

"James?" Lewis has let him be for a few minutes, but apparently his silence is now bothering his governor - no, his _friend_.

"Sorry, s- Robbie," he corrects himself, guessing that this is what Lewis wants to be called. "No, you don't need to do that. I think I get the idea. And thank you." 

"You're all right." Robbie glances at him and grins. "I'll let you buy me a chocolate croissant when we stop for a comfort-break, all right?"

"If you like, though I was planning to take you for a seafood dinner in Dalkey this evening. Irish salmon, Dublin Bay prawns, fresh crab..." 

Robbie's eyebrows shoot up. "It's either-or, is it? In that case, I'll buy me own croissant."

James laughs. "I think I can manage a seafood dinner and a croissant, Robbie."

"No, no, you're not made of money," Robbie says, demurral comically overdone, and it makes both of them smile.

It feels as though all the tension has completely gone from the car, and during the silences in their drive, James finds himself turning over in his mind what Robbie has said to him. He has been a good friend to Robbie. Maybe… maybe even one of his best friends, now.

James can barely begin to describe how good that makes him feel.

"Tell me something," Robbie says as they're driving along. "I've got a hunch about you."

"Oh? What's that?" James asks, his interest piqued.

"Were you a Smiths fan when you were younger?" Robbie asks.

James gives Robbie an amused look. "Were you?"

"I was aware of them at the time," Robbie says. "Remember thinking they might've appealed during my younger days. All that lovely angst."

James chuckles. "I wasn't a Smiths fan. But I was a Morrissey fan. He's got a song called 'Nobody Loves Us' that seemed highly profound to me when I was at university."

"Cheery as it sounds?" Robbie asks.

"More so," James confirms. "I only listen to his music now when I'm already feeling a bit maudlin, because if I'm not, it'll put me there."

"None on this mix, then," Robbie says.

James smiles. "I'm on holiday with my best friend. That's the opposite of maudlin."

"I've missed you being daft." There's pure fondness in Robbie's voice. "Missed _you_ , the past few months."

"I'm back," James promises. "Well, I'm mostly back. I might need the occasional... reminder... if I have another bout of existential flu, though."

"That's all right, lad," Robbie says, generosity in his voice. "I'll just make sure I've got some existential Lemsip with me at all times."

"Thoughtful of you, but I think I prefer more natural remedies." James shifts sideways in his seat so that he can watch Robbie.

"Oh, yeah? Ciggies and beer?"

"Always. But, no. I was really thinking of the efficacy of body-to-body contact."

Robbie actually has to swerve to get the car back into their lane. "You what?" And then he laughs. "Sod. You meant hugging, yeah?"

"I did, but if the other is going to make you swerve into traffic maybe we ought to try that instead," James says lightly.

Robbie gives him a wry look but doesn't say anything.

"No, I… I do mean the hugs," James says, tone turning softer and more serious. "Touch is…" He gives Robbie a rueful smile. "This might seem difficult to believe, but I'm naturally a very huggy sort of person. It didn't take long to learn that most people aren't as fond of them as I am. So I learned to do without."

"Well, I'm rubbish at talking about hugs but I'm all right at giving them," Robbie says. He hesitates, then adds, "Sometimes… I think it should go the opposite way. You should have a family at the end of your life and not at the beginning. Because you get used to it. Every day, seeing your kids and your wife, and hearing every day how much they love you, and you saying how much you love them. And when it isn't there…" His breath hitches.

James gives Robbie a sympathetic look. "You miss it."

"It leaves an emptiness," Robbie says quietly.

James nods, turning his gaze ahead, to the front windscreen. "When we stop for that break, you're getting a chocolate croissant and a hug."

Robbie's voice is still quiet but grateful. "Thanks."

They stop at Sandbach services on the M6, which is around half-way, give or take a few minutes. James grabs their travel mugs so they can get refills, then darts around to Robbie. "Do you prefer a warning, or is it all right to ambush you?" he asks with a faint grin.

"What?" Robbie stares at him for a moment, then grins. "As long as you don't do it down the nick, I don't much care."

"I'll bear that in mind." He moves in closer and wraps his arms around Robbie, feeling Robbie's arms come around him in return. And this is even better than the couple of hugs they've shared over the past two weeks, because it's not one-sided any more. It's helping Robbie, too. So he's not being selfish by asking for it, not taking advantage by accepting it.

He slouches down and dips his head to rest in the crook of Robbie's shoulder. "Thank you," he says, voice low. "And... I know it's not the same, but I love you."

Robbie is very still for a long moment, and James has an uncomfortable taste in his throat. He's gone too far - presumed too much. But then Robbie speaks, and his voice is unsteady. "Love you too, James. Never doubt that."

James swallows the lump that's gathered in his throat, hugs Robbie tighter for a moment, then lets go. They look at each other a bit awkwardly for a moment, then smile and walk inside, shoulder to shoulder, in search of the loo and then chocolate croissants.


	3. Chapter 3

It's just after eleven as they reach the westernmost end of Anglesey, the port of Holyhead lying straight ahead. The sun's dancing on the water, and the sea's perfectly calm. "Good," Robbie says, gesturing ahead. "I know they cancel the fast ferry if there's any significant wind, an' I didn't fancy spending almost four hours, all told, on a bloody boat."

"At this rate, we'll be in Dublin before two." James concentrates on following the signs to the port. "Spend the afternoon in the city, and head out to our B&B this evening?"

"Yeah, an' that seafood dinner you promised me. Sounds all right - I suppose you want to see the cathedrals?" 

"Cathedrals, museums, Trinity College, the Post Office... lots. But you can choose what we do today. We've got tomorrow in the city as well."

Robbie smiles and reaches out to touch James's forearm lightly. "Don't mind what we do. Like you said earlier, I'm on holiday with me best mate, an' that's all that matters."

James had been right. Robbie does think of him as his best friend. He smiles warmly at Robbie, feeling… almost a bit euphoric at the thought.

It's simple enough driving his car onto the ferry, and once he's parked, they make their way to the deck.

"I hope you don't mind being up there the whole time, but I find I don't do particularly well below deck," James says.

"Seasick?" Robbie asks.

James nods.

"Don't worry. I like being up top anyway… seeing the sights. Took a sightseeing ferry round Sydney Harbour once, in Australia. Thought that was interesting as well."

"When were you in Australia?" James asks. "On holiday?"

"No, I was there for a case," Robbie says. "At least to start. Val came out to join me later. I wore so much sunscreen I came home pale as I left, even though it was bloody hot over there."

They sit on a bench, side by side, casually touching as always. James stares at the gently undulating water.

"I love the sea," he says quietly. 

"It is nice, isn't it?" Robbie agrees.

They sit quietly and watch the scenery pass.

* * *

It's almost making him giddy. On holiday with Robbie Lewis, and a Robbie Lewis completely relaxed and enjoying himself. On this first day, Robbie's letting James set the agenda; as he says, as long as they get to Lansdowne Road — and what exactly he wants to do at a rugby stadium escapes James, but it'll make good mockery fodder — and the Guinness Brewery he'll be happy. 

So it's the Parliament Buildings, Trinity College, the Post Office and the Writers' Museum this afternoon, though James's quoting of Yeats in the museum is rather spoilt by Robbie's meaningful wink and "Maud Gonne, how are you?" (Though, secretly, he's impressed by Robbie's historical knowledge). 

And then it's out to Dalkey, where their B&B is. Dalkey is a historic village on a cliff overlooking Dublin Bay, south of the city, and their B&B has spectacular views. (James has already decided that they're taking the DART, a local light railway system, into Dublin tomorrow; no parking costs, but better still, the DART runs next to the coastline and promises spectacular views). A couple of pints - Guinness, naturally - in a well-rated pub, and then it's time for the seafood dinner he promised Robbie. 

He did his research well; the food's excellent, though the quantity means they need to take a walk before contemplating going to bed. That's not a problem, as far as James is concerned. Robbie with a couple of drinks and a good meal inside him is generally mellow and even better company than normal. Tonight, James gets some stories about Robbie's early days with Morse, including the time he went undercover as a university porter turned cricketer. They're laughing, shoulders bumping into each other, as they stroll back to the B&B.

"I'll sleep well tonight," Robbie comments as they let themselves into their shared room. "That was a bloody early start, an' you've kept me busy all afternoon. I enjoyed it, don't get me wrong, but I hope you've not scheduled every hour of every day in that phone of yours."

"Not quite." James smiles reassuringly. "And don't worry - I have thought of you. Every other afternoon, there's a space in the timetable labelled 'Robbie's nap'."

Robbie shakes his head. "Git."

James looks at the sleeping arrangements and tips his head to one side, forehead wrinkling slightly. There are two beds, yes… they stipulated that… but they are pushed together so closely, with only a small gap between, featuring a small table between the heads of their beds. There's barely enough room on the table for a lamp.

"Bit like a sleepover," Robbie says, amused.

James gives Robbie a wry smile. "I can't promise I won't fling my limbs onto your bed in the night."

"Fling away," Robbie says. "I can't promise I won't do the same. Though I'll do me best not to nick your blankets."

James gives Robbie a look of mock shock. "You would steal the blankets of a traumatised fellow officer while he's on holiday?" He shakes his head, feigning sadness. "Sometimes I just don't know what to do with you."

"Bloody hell, you're good at this guilt thing," Robbie says.

James shrugs modestly, giving Robbie a playful look after a moment. Robbie chuckles.

"You're all right," Robbie says. "Come on. Early night so we can be at our best tomorrow."

* * *

James sleeps very well - even better than on Robbie's couch, though not quite as good as the night he slept next to Robbie — and wakes refreshed. All the cares and anxieties he's been carrying around with him for so long aren't gone, precisely, but they're very much not in the forefront of his mind.

Maybe it's because he has this week away from work where he doesn't even have to think about any of it — or maybe it's that Robbie's assurance that he won't feel betrayed or let down, and that he'll support James whatever he decides, is making him feel better about it all.

Robbie's still snoring lightly as James quietly slides out of bed. He pads into the bathroom to take care of necessities, and when he emerges, freshly showered, his friend still hasn't woken. James scribbles a quick note - _Gone for a walk - back soon_ and leaves it on the small table between their beds.

Of course, he knows Robbie will interpret that as _gone for a **smoke**_ , and he won't be wrong, either.

By the time he's back, half an hour later, Robbie's up and dressed and ready for breakfast, and from then on the day's busy. Back into Dublin on the train, more sightseeing including Robbie's preferred sites, and the evening spent in a pub with live traditional music. By the time they get the train back to Dalkey, they're both worn out.

"We'll sleep well tonight," Robbie comments as he settles into his seat on the DART.

"Dunno about tonight. I could sleep now." James collapses into the seat next to Robbie and, purely out of mischief, drops his head onto Robbie's shoulder.

Instead of Robbie likewise taking the piss, James instead feels Robbie's hand brush very lightly over his hair.

"You can if you like, lad," Robbie says, gentle affection in his voice. "I'll wake you when it's our stop."

James stills. Robbie would really let him do this? Sleep with his head on his shoulder? It seems very… well… intimate, in a way.

But it isn't, is it? Not really. They've embraced and such. It's not asking for much support. And anyway, Robbie has always been willing to give what support he can… especially since the Dutta case.

"If you're sure you don't mind," James says hesitantly, wanting Robbie to have a chance to back out.

"Go on and rest," Robbie says. "I'll watch over you."

James smiles at the thought of that, whimsically picturing Robbie as a giant protecting James, holding him in the palm of his hand. Sometimes Robbie looms so large in James's mind… is so important.

He closes his eyes and lets the motion of the train lull him.

He's being shaken lightly. And a familiar, cherished voice is speaking. "Come on, lad, wakey wakey."

"Jus' another..." He turns his head, burrowing deeper into the comfortable, albeit bony shoulder he's resting on. 

"It's our stop." Robbie's voice grows firmer. "So, unless you fancy walking back from Bray, wherever that is..." 

Memory returns. "Sorry!" Instantly, he straightens and drags himself to his feet. Just in time; the train is slowing down for their stop. He follows Robbie onto the platform, blinking hard to stay awake.

"Don't normally see you this tired," Robbie comments. "You didn't have that much to drink."

"Not alcohol," he explains. "Haven't been sleeping well."

Robbie looks at him sharply. "I know you weren't, but I thought you'd been doing better the last couple of weeks."

He avoids Robbie's gaze. "Mostly. But last night was good."

Robbie nods, and James feels an arm winding around his shoulders. "Come on, sleepyhead, let's get you back and into bed."

* * *

They're in New College Lane - why is it always New College Lane? - and Lewis is asking, _demanding_ why he's throwing his career away. Why does he always have to be stupid, impulsive, not thinking things through properly? Why doesn't he consider the impact of his actions? Why doesn't he realise that it's not all about him all the time? Why doesn't he just _grow up_?

He's trying to explain, but the words won't come out properly. All he can manage is incoherent fragments, and he can see that Lewis isn't impressed by any of it. His governor's face is growing darker and darker, and James is feeling more and more helpless by the moment.

"Please, sir!" he manages at last. "I... I can't... please, you have to understand!"

"I don't have to understand anything," Lewis snaps. "All I see is a selfish, immature child who doesn't want to be an adult. Go on, do what you want. I don't care any more. Dunno why I ever did in the first place. You're not worth it, Hathaway."

And with that, Lewis turns and walks away, and James falls to his knees on the pavement, sobbing. "Sir... Please don't leave me, sir!"

Warm arms surround him, and a soothing voice murmurs to him. He trembles, melting into the embrace. He doesn't know who it is, but it doesn't matter. He needs someone to care about him.

"He'll never come back now," he weeps softly.

"Who's that, lad?" The voice is gentle and sleep-rough.

"Robbie," James says. "Inspector Lewis. He'll never come back and it's all my fault."

The moving hand on his back stills. "What?"

"He's finished with me because I'm worthless," James whispers. "He said so."

The arms around James tighten. "He would never say that."

"He did say that," James whispers. "And he's right. I'm nothing."

"No." The voice is more insistent now. "No, you're not nothing. Listen to me. I don't think you're nothing. You're clever and funny and… you have so much to offer, James. The last thing I would do is say you were worthless."

James blinks, feeling a bit disorientated. "Sir?"

A gentle squeeze from the arms. "It's me."

James hides his face against Robbie's neck, the tears beginning again. "Don't leave me. Please. I couldn't bear it."

The hand on his back moves again. "Oh, James." Whispered. Sad. "I'm not leaving you, lad. I'll stay right here. Promise."

"Stay," James repeats through the lump in his throat. "Thank you."

He's keeping his eyes tightly closed. If he opens them, he might find out that he was still dreaming, and that Robbie's gone again, leaving him alone.

"Just give me a second. Not going anywhere, I promise." The arms are abruptly gone from around him, and James murmurs a protest. But then he feels the duvet being pulled back, and Robbie slides into bed next to him. "C'mere."

James shifts closer, and Robbie's arm wraps securely around him again. He dares to move closer still, remembering Robbie's invitation on the train earlier, and settles his head on Robbie's shoulder. "That's right, lad," a soothing voice says close to his ear. "Go back to sleep. I'll still be here when you wake up."

He's finally starting to come out of the terror of his nightmare and actually believe that. "Thank you. Sorry for... being so..."

"Nothing to apologise for." Robbie voice is gentle, but firm. "Had me fair share of nightmares meself. I know what it's like." He hugs James lightly. "C'mon, make yourself comfortable. You'll sleep better that way."

Encouraged, and needing the contact almost more than he needs to breathe, he shifts closer still and rests his arm over Robbie's chest. That gets him a murmur of approval, and he settles in for sleep again.

* * *

When he wakes, he's lying with his head on Robbie's chest. Robbie's half-sitting up, his arm around James's shoulders, and he's staring into the distance, looking distinctly unhappy.

"Robbie?" he ventures, feeling wary and very awkward. After all, he's forced his boss — his friend — into a situation where he had to treat James almost as he would one of his kids. He'd clung to the man, to the point where Robbie couldn't let him go. And he's forced Robbie to spend what was no doubt a very uncomfortable night in a bed with another man. "I owe you an apology—"

Robbie instantly looks down at him, his craggy face showing nothing but concern now. "No, you don't, lad. Far from it." His arm tightens around James. "If anyone owes an apology, it's me. What've I done — or not done — to make you believe I'd walk away when you need me, instead of listening to you? To make you feel worthless?" His voice cracks on that final word. "What have I done, James?"

_You walked away from me once when I needed you. I knew even then that I wasn't worth your care. I lied to you and misled you and yet I still expected you to be there for me, which wasn't fair of me. I proved to myself that I wasn't worth anything. Why should you think anything different?_

"Dreams don't have to be based in reality, do they?" James asks. Lying again. Lies and evasions. They're all he's good for.

"No, not necessarily, but… it wouldn't frighten you if you didn't think it could happen," Robbie counters.

Damn. Robbie's too good a detective for James to get round him this way. And James doesn't want to get round him right now. He's tired of waking up afraid all the time. He's tired of being afraid of what he'll see when he closes his eyes.

"Is this about what happened during the McEwan case?" Robbie asks quietly.

James is so startled that all he can do is gawp. "What?"

Robbie nods as if he's got his answer. Maybe he has. "Thought it might be."

"No, you… you were well within your rights. I consistently lied to you and misled you. You had every right to…"

"Let you die?" Robbie's voice is very quiet now. "I'll tell you something, lad. That was in my nightmares for a long time. That I hadn't got there. That I sentenced you to death because I lost my temper."

Robbie'd had nightmares? About him? "I didn't know."

"No, well, I knew you'd blame yourself for that, too. Didn't want it on your shoulders when it should be on mine." He looks down at James. "I've learnt by now that the times you're not talking are the times you most need someone."

James swallows the lump in his throat. Trust Robbie to know that. 

"Even that time I did walk away, I never thought you were worthless," Robbie says firmly. "Never, James."

"I did," James whispers.

"Yeah, well, you would, you daft sod, an' I should've realised that at the time." Robbie's arm tightens around his shoulders again. "Dunno what I can do about that, though, except maybe givin' you a kick up the arse any time you say it." There's a smile in Robbie's voice, and James can't help returning it.

"Thank you. I..." He hesitates, then decides he might as well say it. "I feel I don't deserve all this concern and reassurance from you - I know I shouldn't need it. But I... appreciate it."

"You shouldn't need it," Lewis agrees. "And maybe if I hadn't walked away from you that day you wouldn't need it, either." Robbie's chin comes to rest on his head. "What d'you think - if I give you my word I'll never walk away again, would that help?"

James sighs; why does he have to be such a bloody nuisance? "You shouldn't have to, though," he says, guilt seeping through his voice. "I'm thirty-six, and I'm behaving like a fifteen-year-old."

"I wonder," Robbie says, an edge to his voice that makes James look up at him sharply. "Did you ever get to act like a fifteen-year-old?"

James doesn't answer, but he knows Robbie well enough to know that his silence will be more than enough to give the brilliant detective his answer. Robbie doesn't comment, though; he just hugs James again, and then changes the subject. "Come on, best get up or we'll miss breakfast. An' we've got a long drive today, yeah?"

"Yeah. Well, not too long, though we're taking the scenic route most of the way." Reluctantly, James moves off Robbie's chest, and immediately feels the loss of the man's arm around him. "Four hours without stops. Though that's just to Cork. It'll be close to another hour to Kinsale."

"Mmm." Robbie's out of bed as well now, and he's walking around towards James - on his way to the bathroom, James assumes. Only apparently not, because he stops and wraps both arms around James in a hug. "Just as a reminder, lad - any time you need this, you just ask, all right?"

James nods, and before Robbie lets go, he dips his head and presses a fleeting kiss to the other man's cheek. "Thanks. I hope you know," he adds, speaking quickly and quietly as he pulls away, "there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Including... if you asked me to, I'd stay in the job. For you."

Robbie's eyes soften, and he catches James's hand before he can pull any further away.

"I wouldn't ask you to do that," Robbie says quietly. "Before we left… I could see how it was hurting you. I'd never ask you to hurt yourself just to please me, James. You're a good copper, and if you go I'll miss you, but if you go I know it's what you have to do to take care of yourself. And… that's what I want you to do. Take care of yourself." He gives James a little smile. "Though I don't mind helping with that if you want me."

"I," James begins, his own hand tightening round Robbie's, but his internal censor catches up and stops the rest of the sentence. _I'll always want you_. He's touched beyond measure by Robbie's words; he'd fully expected, after what he said, that Robbie would take that opportunity to try to convince him to stay in policing. James had told him it would work. But Robbie hadn't done that. He'd put James first. It was a bit… overwhelming, really. "Thank you."

Robbie squeezes James's hand. "I'd do anything for you too, lad. Just ask me."

He would? He'd do anything for James? There's so much James wants to say, but it all tumbles round his brain in confused fragments of sentences. He simply looks at Robbie and nods, and Robbie nods back.

"Excuse me," Robbie says, grimacing slightly as he gestures toward the bathroom. James nods and lets go of his hand.

Even with Robbie out of the room, James feels warmed through, as though he's still being hugged by the man. He feels… safe. He feels almost… well… loved.

So this is what it's like when someone truly cares for you.


	4. Chapter 4

Breakfast is a bit of a laugh; an eager family of American tourists is pumping everyone for information about the area, even though most of the others at breakfast are visitors themselves.

It's not until they're on the road and away that Robbie says, with a chuckle in his voice, "I don't think we were very helpful. Do you?"

"No," James says, "But I think they were very entertaining."

Robbie grins. "That's what's good about B&Bs. Long as you don't end up at Fawlty Towers."

"Say what you like. I wouldn't have minded talking to the Major," James says.

Robbie laughs. "I'm expecting lots of historical information from you on this drive."

"Lucky for you I've been swotting up," James says.

Robbie glances at him. "Have you?"

James feels his cheeks pink, but he nods. "Actually, yes."

“Go on, then, lad. Surprise me.”

“All right.” James gestures to their surroundings. “Do you have any idea how Dalkey contributed to the expression _beyond the pale_?”

Robbie snorts in amusement. “Course not. Go on, then.”

James describes, as briefly as he can, the English Pale, an area under direct control of the Norman invaders, outside of which was considered uncivilised and incapable of being civilised. By the 1400s, Dalkey marked the southernmost point of the Pale.

“In other words,” Robbie comments, “the posh lot versus everyone else.”

James grins. “Probably.” He has anecdotes about a number of the small towns and landmarks they pass; he’s proud of having researched and memorised these in the couple of weeks he had between booking and travelling. His only regret is not having been able to find a crash course in Irish pronunciation; he’d love to be able to impress Robbie further by referring to _Cill Mhantáin_ instead of Wicklow. Though Robbie seems impressed enough by his description of Celtic and Viking settlements as they detour through the picturesque little town. “And just to add to the cultural mix,” he continues, “there’s a ruined Franciscan abbey over there.”

“You want to take a look?” Robbie sounds as if he genuinely wouldn’t mind.

“It’s fine, thanks. There are ruined abbeys everywhere in Ireland. Though I’d like to come back to Dublin via Glendalough, if you don’t mind.”

“As long as I get to slake me thirst here an’ there, I’ll put up with it.” The tone sounds grudging, but James is near-fluent in Robbie-speak by now, and he knows what’s really meant. “I’m glad we’re not sticking to the main roads and motorways. Much nicer seeing the scenery.”

James takes that as permission to detour through Arklow as well a little bit later, crossing over the Avoca into the town, wherein Robbie starts counting pubs. “I thought we were doing well on pubs per capita in the Northeast, but we’ve got nothing on the Irish.”

“The count’s probably even higher than you imagine. Look out for the villages where the newsagent’s or even the undertaker’s is also a pub.”

“You’re joking!”

“Absolutely not.”

By the time James reaches his recitation of facts about Wexford - named after a man who drowned in the mudflats; one of the earliest Norse towns; its population massacred by Cromwell’s army; visited by two US Presidents (Kennedy and Eisenhower) - he senses that even Robbie’s patience is beginning to give out, and he actually omits some of his prepared material. Though he can’t resist pointing out the direction of some megalithic tombs and dolmens in County Waterford - but takes Robbie to a well-rated pub serving home-cooked Irish food in compensation. 

As they near Cork, he points towards Cobh, another location he can’t ignore. “You might have heard of it as Queenstown - it was a thriving port around a hundred years ago.”

Robbie frowns. “The Lusitania?”

“Yes - some unfortunate associations. The Lusitania was sunk just off the coast here. Queenstown was also the last place the Titanic docked on her maiden voyage.”

“Good job our ferry went to Dublin, then.”

“Mmm.” James grins wryly. “This part of the country doesn’t have a very positive seafaring history. Part of the Spanish Armada was wrecked off Kinsale - where we’re staying tonight - though the locals did save some of the sailors, and they didn’t mind the doubloons that washed up on the shore either.”

“Dunno about doubloons,” Robbie comments, “but I wouldn’t mind another pint sooner or later. Not that I’m not impressed by your knowledge, but when it comes to choosing between that an’ liquid refreshment...”

“You can have both together, you know,” James comments, and takes a local road to Cork city, looking for a place to park. “Though, given your interest in the local beer, perhaps you could enlighten me about Murphy’s stout while we drink, rather than me boring you about St Finbarr?”

“Just so you know, lad,” Robbie says as they stroll, casually looking around for a pub (he’ll have a pint; James has already volunteered to stick to spurious glamour), “I may roll me eyes occasionally, but you never bore me.” He lays a hand on James’s shoulder and squeezes warmly.

James smiles in return, feeling the warm blush stealing up his face. “Nor you me.”

Robbie pats his shoulder gently. "Glad to hear it."

They find a pub with the right ambiance and ensconce themselves in one of the corner booths. Now it's Robbie's turn to share what he knows about beer, and James listens avidly. Robbie is so intent and often intense at work, with that semi-permanent scowl he has, that it's a welcome change to see him extemporising about something that interests him. And his enthusiasm draws James in such that, by the end of their discussion about beer, James is almost as interested as Robbie.

"You do know a lot about this," James says.

Robbie smiles. "Some of it's from Morse."

James tips his head. "Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Whenever you've learnt something from Morse, you always tell me so. I don't understand why you need to make that distinction."

Robbie nods, eyes sobering a bit. "Well… he was clever, Morse. Knew all sorts of things. Studied and that. Sometimes I still feel if I say the sort of thing he'd say, I need to explain why I'm saying it." He looks down, smiling to himself. "Sounds a bit daft now I'm saying it. Only… sometimes I'm very aware I'm not him."

James thinks about that for a moment. "I understand. But I have to tell you… I've heard a bit about Morse."

"What have you heard?" And there's a flash of the loyal bagman Robbie must once have been.

"I've heard he was educated," James says, "but I've also heard you were the only person he ever had any patience with."

"Not always," Robbie says, a faint smile on his face.

"I'd rather have you," James says. "As a work partner or as a friend, I'd rather have you. Being able to quote Milton doesn't trump kindness or empathy."

Robbie looks at James, apparently trying to see if James is in earnest, and his expression softens when he realises he is. "Thanks, man."

"There's times I wish you'd known him," Robbie adds after a lengthy pause. "I'd love to know what he'd have made of you. Or you of him, actually. He could be bloody difficult to get on with, yeah, but once you got to know him... well, it's a bit like the way you understand what's really behind it when I'm bein' grumpy."

James smiles. "I went to Cambridge, though. He was an Oxford man."

"And had about as much time for the Oxford hierarchy as I do," Robbie points out. "Never finished his degree, anyway. Some trouble over a woman, far as I know. Usually was with him," he adds, mouth turning down at the corners.

"You still miss him," James comments; with all he's heard about Morse, and especially about the way he treated his bagman, it's almost a surprise to him to realise it. Of course, Robbie Lewis is the kindest man he knows, and he would have liked and been loyal to Morse despite everything - but the relationship seems to have gone deeper. And, for a second, he finds himself fighting the same kind of envy - _no, call it what it is, Hathaway: jealousy_ \- he felt when Ali McLennan appeared on the scene. And that's ridiculous. Of course Robbie's entitled to have cared about other colleagues - partners - before himself.

Robbie sighs into his pint. "Yeah, I do sometimes. Not as much now, o'course, but in the first year or so it was like me right arm was missing. Kept expecting to hear him shouting for me - or telling me I'd done something stupid or missed an obvious clue. _Lew-is_. If I heard it in me head once a day, I heard it a hundred times."

 _God, if I lost you, I can't imagine what it would feel like_. But he shoves away the unwelcome, unbearable thought and instead reaches out to cover Robbie's hand, squeezing lightly in comfort.

Robbie glances sideways at him, gratitude in his eyes.

* * *

They spend a pleasant evening in Kinsale, strolling around the harbour town and having dinner at a seafood restaurant, followed by a drink or two in a pub that, coincidentally, has live music: a couple of fiddlers and a bodhrán player. It's not music James would add to his playlist, but it's entertaining, and he notices Robbie tapping his feet in time to the beat. 

He's getting to see a different side of Robbie on this holiday. They've spent off-duty time together before, of course, but their working relationship is always present in some shape or form. This time, other than James's offer this morning to stay in his current job, work hasn't come up once. Robbie, he realises, is doing everything he can to ensure that James has a complete break from the stresses and emotional strain he's been dealing with. Besides that, he suspects Robbie's enjoying the time away from work as well, from the need to be Detective Inspector Lewis all the time. He's seeing his boss - truly his friend, now - in a completely different light: relaxed, having a good time, curious about the world around him in a way that doesn't involve putting clues together. James can only hope that the future will allow him to get to know this Robbie Lewis better still.

Robbie's somewhat merry as they stroll back to their guesthouse, but then he's had a few more drinks than James. He'll sleep it off, of course, and they're not driving anywhere until the following afternoon, when they're making their way to Bantry Bay in the Beara peninsula, their next stop before spending a couple of days in and around Killarney. 

"This way," James says, allowing the fondness to creep into his voice as he steers Robbie gently up the path with a hand against his back. "Quiet, now." Once they're in their large, comfortable bedroom and the door's closed, he lets go; there's a distinction between being helpful and being clingy. The walk's helped Robbie, anyway; he's sobered up a bit and cheerfully gets ready for bed, chatting about their plans for the next day as he does so.

And then, as James has just climbed into his own bed and is about to say goodnight, Robbie sits on the edge of his bed. "They say prevention's better than cure, lad - an' I'd hate to see you go through something like last night again. Would it help if I..." He nods down at the bed. "Well, if we shared, like?"

For a moment, James stares at Robbie. 

Robbie's gaze drifts down. "Just an idea, man. Don't feel you have to…"

"Do you want to?" James asks. Because he can't think of anything that would be more comforting than having Robbie hold him through the night, but he wants to make sure Robbie isn't doing it to be kind. Isn't only doing it to be kind. 

It's Robbie's turn to stare at James for a moment. Then he nods slowly. "I think… I'd feel better if I were already there. If when you called me…" Robbie's voice wavers slightly, and he pauses for a moment. "I just want to be there, that's all."

James feels that inner warmth again. It seems odd to be pleased that it upsets Robbie when he is upset… but it's yet another sign that he _matters_ , and that's something he's never taken for granted from anyone. He pulls back the blankets for Robbie to get in, an unspoken invitation.

Robbie nods, climbing into bed beside James. They lie there a moment, looking at each other, neither one sure what to do next.

"Wish I could read your mind, lad, but I haven't got the gift yet," Robbie finally says. "Do you want me over here on my own, or do you want to be held?"

"Held. Please." The words fly from James's mouth before he has time to call them back or even to think them through properly.

Robbie opens his arms and waits for James to move into them, and James does, tentatively reaching out to hug Robbie close.

"This is really all right?" James whispers, wanting to check.

"It is," Robbie assures him. "We might both sleep better this way."

James thinks, but doesn't say, _I know we will_.

* * *

He's having a wonderful dream, wrapped in the arms of the person he loves most in the world. He knows it's a dream; after all, it's not as if it's ever happened in reality. He's never actually _slept_ with any of the handful of lovers he's had, has he?

It's lovely, though: warm and comforting and loving, and he wishes he'd never have to wake up, never had to move from this bed, or lose his lover's arms that are so securely around him.

He snuggles closer, tucking his head into the crook of his lover's shoulder, and feels his lover hold him more tightly as a result, feels a light pressure against the top of his head that he knows is a kiss. "Mmm," he murmurs. "Love you."

"You too, bonny lad," that familiar, loved voice responds sleepily. "Go back to sleep, all right?"

It's what he wants, of course, to stay here as long as possible before reality intrudes again. But first, he can't resist, he _needs_ to...

He presses closer still and tilts his head, seeking out his lover's lips purely by touch, and moves in with a warm, deep kiss, lingering, seeking and demanding a response. And it's completely perfect, _soul meets soul on lovers' lips_...

— until, abruptly, his lover — Robbie — wrenches away.

"James, what on earth—?"

James's eyes snap open, and oh, God, no. It's not a dream. It's not a dream at all.

He just kissed Robbie as though they were lovers.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, arms wrapping around himself in a fruitless attempt to make up for the absence of Robbie's arms. "I'm so sorry, I… I just… I thought…"

Robbie's hand rests gently on his arm. "Told you I'm not leaving, and I meant it," Robbie says quietly. "Just… was wondering what happened."

"Nothing." James is burning with embarrassment now. How could he do such a thing to Robbie, who'd been so kind to him?

"James." Robbie clearly doesn't believe that.

"It's the first good dream I've had in so long… I almost forgot they existed… how real they could be. I'm so sorry…"

"What did you dream?" Robbie's voice is gentle now.

James can barely whisper it. "That someone loved me."

His words fall into the silence between them, and he cringes. He wants to be somewhere else, anywhere but here, where he's just messed up the best thing he's ever had in his life _again_. "I.. I'm sorry..." he tries again. "I wish I wasn't so..." _fucking needy_.

"Oi." Robbie's sliding down next to him again, and the hand on his arm is moving up to his shoulder, massaging gently. "Calm that big brain of yours down a bit, would you? I was just thinking." The rubbing on his shoulder's soothing, and he wants to curl into Robbie's body again, but he can't. Doesn't know if he'd be welcome any more. 

"Was going to say you are loved," Robbie tells him. "An' you know that - I've told you. But that's not what you meant, is it? Tell me," he continues. "Tell me what being loved means to you."

When James doesn't answer immediately - words are normally one of his strengths, but not now; how can he begin to explain something that he's only ever been able to dream of? - Robbie speaks again. "A lover, yeah? Kissing, making love, an' that?"

He nods. "That's... part of it. But not all. Being... meaningful to someone. Having someone who's there for me, cares about me, no matter what. A... partner, in every way."

"Like me an' Val." Robbie sounds thoughtful. "Yeah. You should have that, all right, bonny lad." He wraps his arm around James's shoulders again, pulling him closer, then rests his head against James's. "I'd like to... I mean, I do love you, an' this is nice. Just dunno if I can... well, the rest, y'know?" 

Now he's sounding embarrassed, and that's not right. "No," he protests. "I wasn't expecting... I know you're not gay." 

Robbie snorts. "Wasn't it you who told me it's not as simple as gay or straight? Look," he adds before James can say anything, "Let's not rule anything in or out, all right? Nothing's happened so far that I have a problem with - and I mean _nothing_." And James's heart skips a beat when Robbie shifts and, with aching tenderness, brushes his lips lightly over James's. "Let's get some sleep, an' tomorrow we'll see what happens, yeah?"

James wonders for a moment if he's still dreaming, but the remnants of panic are still circulating through his body in such a way that he has to be awake. He's awake, and… and Robbie just kissed him. On purpose. Because he wanted to.

 _Gift horse, mouth_ , James.

"All right," James says, hesitantly curling up next to Robbie again, their bodies warm together. It still relaxes him to be held… to hold Robbie and to be held himself.

"Good," Robbie says softly. Carefully, as though he's not sure how the gesture will be received, he ruffles James's hair affectionately.

James sighs in contentment. This isn't what he expected to happen, but… he's not unhappy with it. Far from it.

Sleep finds him quickly.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

James wakes wrapped in warmth, and he snuggles closer, nuzzling the shoulder he's got his head against. He hears a hum of contentment, and a hand gently rubs his back.

He opens his eyes and sees Robbie looking at him with such warmth that it almost takes his breath away. After this… after everything… Robbie is still here. Not just still with him, but still beside him. Still close to him. 

"Good morning," he whispers.

"Good morning," Robbie says.

There is then a pause of what feels like fifteen minutes while each of them waits for the other to say something.

James breaks the silence first with a chuckle. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to say."

"Me neither," Robbie says, his face relaxing into a grin. His hand comes up to stroke James's hair, and it's all James can do not to push his head into the touch like a cat. "Brave new world, eh?"

"Mm-hmm," James says. "But a nice one."

* * *

They're up and out quickly after that, officially so as not to waste the few hours they have left in this coastal town — though, from James's perspective, he also wants to minimise the possibility of doing something stupid, something that would undoubtedly make Robbie regret the enormous concession he's made in order to meet James's crass neediness.

Robbie _says_ nothing happened that he has a problem with. He behaves as if he likes cuddling with James as much as James likes it. But James can't shake the fear that Robbie's humouring him, recognising his insecurities and - being the kind, thoughtful and generous man that he is - giving as much of himself as possible to help James get over his idiocy.

After breakfast, they set off on a walk that will take them down to the harbour and around the river estuary, and then back across farmland to the town. It'll take a couple of hours, and the weather is perfect: warm, but with a slight wind that fills the air with the scent of sea breeze. James has more anecdotes he's saved up for Robbie, and Robbie has comparisons with the rugged north-eastern coastline of England - and a suggestion that takes James's breath away.

"Next time we go on holiday, fancy heading up Scarborough way? Plenty to see up around there - all those ruined castles an' churches you like so much, as well as the countryside and lots of walking."

Robbie's actually suggesting - and as if it’s a foregone conclusion that it’ll happen - going away together again? The possibility has never even occurred to James, mainly because he'd never imagined Robbie would consider it. But there's only one way to respond. He turns to glance at his friend, smiling at the sight of Robbie with his hair windswept and face reddened by the sun and the breeze. Robbie's never looked so lovely, he thinks. 

"I'd like that," he says, simply; honestly.

"Good," is all Robbie says - and then, as they resume walking, James feels a warm, large hand wrap itself around his.

 _He's holding my hand. Because he wants to. I didn't ask. He volunteered. And he's holding my hand_. The thought makes James feel almost giddy, and his breath catches for a moment. But as he falls into step beside Robbie, James makes sure he keeps a firm grip on Robbie's hand, so Robbie knows that he likes this too. That he wants this.

After a moment, he risks a glance at Robbie. Robbie glances back at him, and there's a smile in his eyes. Neither one of them needs to say anything. Sometimes, at the most important moments, they don't.

"You could have anyone you want, you know," Robbie says after a long while.

James blinks, startled out of his pleasant reverie. "What?"

"I mean… you're a young man. Not bad looking. Dishy, according to Laura." Robbie gives James a slight smile. "I think… if you were looking, you'd find lots of people who were interested in you."

"I'm not interested in people," James counters, tone light-hearted.

Robbie accepts the comment as a gentle rebuke and doesn't raise the topic again. And he keeps his hand round James's… almost as if he's worried James might want to be the one to pull away.

But that's ridiculous. Robbie can't possibly think that, after all they've been through. And certainly not after last night.

But maybe Robbie isn't as certain as all that. What if it's never crossed his mind that, out of everyone that Robbie imagines James could possibly be with, he would _choose_ to be with Robbie - in whatever capacity Robbie will allow him? 

Is it somehow even possible that Robbie may believe James spends time with him out of... well, what James has been suspecting of Robbie? Out of sympathy, or kindness?

He says nothing, but carries on walking, his hand gripping Robbie's securely - and on the couple of occasions they have to let go of each other, when passing other people on a narrow path, or navigating a stile, he's the one who reaches for Robbie again on the other side. And the renewed grasp, each time, is met with an answering smile which seems to suggest gratitude as much as pleasure.

It's thought-provoking; actually, it's 'take what James knows of the universe and set it on its head'.

Over lunch, in a small café offering home-made breads and cakes, James encourages Robbie to tell him more about Tyneside and the east coast, making clear - he hopes - that he's interested as much because it's part of Robbie as because he likes gaining knowledge. And, because he's now paying proper attention, he notices Robbie's occasional self-deprecating asides: _don't want to bore you_ or _tell me if I go on too much_ , and similar comments, and he's quick to insist that he's genuinely interested and wants to hear more.

The fact that he could listen all day to Robbie Lewis reading the phone book aloud is completely beside the point.

As they leave the café, James reaches for Robbie's hand again, and immediately feels Robbie's fingers close around his. And he manages, as casually as he can, to say, "I've been told I'm... over-selective, in many respects. Snobbish, even. My tastes in music, in literature, in conversational topics, in... everything, really. Including..." He gives Robbie a carefully-timed sidelong glance. "...people. Although," he adds, "perhaps it's yet more evidence of my snobbishness, but I don't see it as such. I consider that I just have better tastes than most people."

Robbie's lips curve in one of his delightedly amused grins. "A connoisseur, even?"

"Absolutely." James tightens his fingers around Robbie's, and picks up the pace back to where the car's parked.

It might just be James's imagination, but James thinks Robbie is holding James's hand a bit more tightly after that comment. James doesn't think it's his imagination.

Robbie doesn't speak again until they're in the car together. "James."

James glances at Robbie and gives him an encouraging smile. "What is it?"

"I'm lucky," Robbie says.

"About?" James asks.

He can hear the smile in Robbie's voice. "That your tastes include me."

"You should never doubt that," James says.

Robbie is silent for a long while. 

"I'd like to take you north," he says quietly, finally. "Show you where I'm from. Where I grew up. If you're genuinely interested."

"Of course I am," James says. "It's… if it's important to you, it's important to me too." He can feel the surprise from Robbie beside him. "You didn't already know that?"

"I hoped, maybe," Robbie says quietly.

"This isn't one-way, Robbie," James says. "If you care for me, I care for you in turn. I would never want to be the person who couldn't give back what he's received." He's been on the other side… very rarely, but he has been, and it's no good.

Robbie nods. After a moment, he says briefly, "There's no if," and starts the engine.

Yes. Careless choice of words, James tells himself; there's no if on his side either. "Of course not," he agrees and, before Robbie can shift out of neutral, he leans over and presses a light kiss against his friend's cheek. 

Robbie reaches out and squeezes James's hand for a moment, then focuses on the drive.

* * *

More rugged coastline, the Atlantic Ocean interspersed with open countryside, tiny villages, stone walls and old farm buildings, and the occasional roadblock in the form of a herd of sheep ambling lazily along the country roads. It's a slower drive than they'd envisaged, as a result, but James wouldn't change a thing - and, judging by Robbie's smile and cheerful conversation, neither would he.

They check into their Bantry guesthouse after dinner. James offers to bring in the luggage while Robbie takes care of business, and he arrives inside just in time to hear Robbie being offered a choice of rooms: one with two single beds, or one with a double. "We'll take the double," Robbie says without hesitation, accepting the key. It's only when he turns that he sees James, and he looks a tad embarrassed.

"Hope you don't mind, pet," Robbie says once they're up in their room, which does indeed boast one large double bed, as well as a couple of armchairs and a big window overlooking the bay. "Just thought... well, it's been nice cuddling together the last couple of nights. I've missed having someone special to do that with."

James sets their luggage down and walks straight to Robbie, wrapping him in a hug. "Thank you. I do prefer this. Just..." He hesitates for a moment, leaning back so that he can see Robbie's expression. "Please, tell me if I become too... clingy." And he doesn't mean limpet-like; he means needy, and he's pretty certain that Robbie understands that.

Robbie nods, hugging James in return.

After a moment's pause, Robbie says, "It's been…" Then he lapses into silence.

James isn't sure whether to prod or not. So he decides to. "It's been?"

"I don't know if you'll understand this," Robbie says.

"I'll try."

Robbie sighs. "When you're a husband… a dad… you never question that you're useful. Because you’re needed. You're needed all the time. Watching the kids or buying food or running errands or taking care of whoever's ill… there's always something to do and someone always needs you."

James can fill in the rest. But now that his wife is gone and his children are grown, Robbie doesn't feel useful. He hasn't felt needed. And because he had felt needed, and he liked to feel needed, he's been feeling a bit at sea.

But Robbie surprises him.

"I know you don't want to be a constant drain on me," Robbie says. "To be calling for my attention all the time. And I'd tell you if you were, if it were this hugely unequal thing where you were sucking all the life out of me."

"Thank you," James says wryly.

Robbie gives him a shyly apologetic grin for his analogy. "It's good being useful again. I like being some use to somebody."

"Oh, Robbie…" James hugs him more tightly. "You're more than just _some use_."

"Good." Robbie pulls a face. "Cause sometimes I wonder - well, outside the job - why you'd even be interested in spending time with me. Used to imagine you'd dutifully turn up once a week for a drink after I retired; then it'd be once a fortnight, once a month, an' we'd sit opposite each other with nothing to talk about." 

James's eyes widen, and he shakes his head. "You've had too much to drink if you really think that's true. I'm mentally compiling a list - if you still think that way in the morning, I know what we'll be discussing on our walk."

That makes Robbie smile, and he pats James on the shoulder. "Fair enough. I'm for bed - if you want to sit up for a bit...?"

And miss even five minutes cuddling with Robbie? Not happening.

Tonight, there are no nightmares, no unwanted dreams; just the reassurance of being loved and cared for by the person he loves and cares for most in the world. And if this is the most he'll ever have with Robbie, he'd still take it in preference to a more sexually intimate relationship with anyone else.

* * *

"Been thinking," Robbie says as they stroll hand in hand on the beach the following morning.

"Oh?" James grins and pauses to study Robbie. "Careful - I wouldn't want you to overdo it."

"Git." Robbie jabs him with his elbow. "Seriously, though. I was wondering - what do you really want in a partner? I mean, if you had a... what d'you call it? A wish list?"

James is tempted to make a snarky comment that he's not placing an order on Amazon, but stops himself in time. Robbie's serious about this, even if he has no idea where his friend's going with it. So he nods. "Most of all... someone who accepts me as I am, quirks, smart-arsery, moods and all. Someone who wants to be with _me_ , as opposed to using me as a convenience. Someone I can relax with and be ridiculous with, and who doesn't mind when I don't much feel like talking. And someone who'll listen when I do want to talk." He's staring off into space now as he continues; it's actually a surprise to realise that he does have criteria here, and even more than he thought he did. "Someone who likes to cuddle and hug, or at least doesn't mind that I do. And someone who'll always be honest with me, and make me feel that I can be honest with..." He hesitates, then acknowledges that there's no point _not_ saying it now. "...him."

"Mmm." Robbie continues to walk beside him. "You didn't mention anything about... well, sex an' that."

James shrugs. "Compared to everything else, it doesn't even come close to the top of my list. It's not that I don't want it. But, honestly, my experiences in that regard have been... not entirely positive. I'd rather be... close... to someone I love, even if it's just touching and kissing, than be a-" He scowls. "Convenient sex partner of someone I end up not liking very much at all."

Robbie nods. "I'm sorry you haven't had good experiences in the past."

James shrugs. There's no sense being sorry or grateful; it's just something that happens to be true. "Thanks." He glances at Robbie. "What about you? What would your wish list be?"

"A lot like yours," Robbie says. "A person who wants me specifically, not just someone. Someone I can take care of and who can take care of me when I need it." He glances at James. "And a bit of cuddling and kissing wouldn't go amiss. Affection. You know."

"I do," James agrees. He pauses. "And I just want you to know, Robbie… what we have… I wouldn't… you don't ever need to feel any pressure from me to do anything you don't want to do. And I mean _anything_. But you have to tell me what those things are, because I won't be able to guess."

"That's part of the honesty, isn't it?" Robbie says. "Don't worry. I'd tell you. I can be pretty plainspoken when I need to be." He glances at James. "Now I expect you to do the same. Tell me if you feel I'm pushing you to do something you don't want, or tell me when I'm not doing something you _do_ want."

James nods. "It's not easy for me, but I'll try." He pauses, wondering if he should share… "You know… when we woke up and I was kissing you?"

"Bit difficult to forget that, James," Robbie says, amused.

James chuckles softly. "Well… that's how I knew it was a dream. Because no one I've been with has spent the night with me like that. And I can't help seeing it as… significant. That you did. That we have."

Robbie nods, expression warm. "And I thought… I didn't know I'd ever want to spend the night with someone again… in someone else's arms. But it was so comfortable, James. You made it easy. And suddenly I did want it. I do."

"I'm glad," James says softly. "It never occurred to me before that you'd even consider being close, affectionate, with me like this. Being friends - I've known you're my friend, as well as my boss - is one thing, and I've always valued that more than anything else in my life, but this is something completely different - and unbelievably wonderful."

Robbie's hand tightens around his again. "I'm glad too. And I hope... well, feels as if we're heading in the same direction here, but I want to be sure about this, James. Want you to be sure. I... dunno how far I can go, yeah? I'm willing to try kissing — more than we've done so far, I mean. I'm willing to keep an open mind about everything else, but there's no guarantee that... that I can, you know? And I don't want you feeling you have to... settle... for less than you want."

James halts, turns towards Robbie and, dropping his friend's hand, reaches up to take Robbie's face between his hands. "Does this feel like I'm settling?" he asks, in barely more than a whisper. He dips his head and brushes his lips so very lightly over Robbie's, then lets their foreheads rest together. "I'm not settling. I... I'm standing here resisting the urge to pinch myself because you're offering more than I ever dared to dream I could have."

Robbie tilts his chin upwards, just enough so that he can press a kiss to James's lips. "Don't talk like you're the only one benefiting here, bonny lad. Told you how much I've missed being close to someone since I lost Val. And... it's not just anyone. Used to think I was a one-woman man, that there wouldn't be anyone else for me. Well, maybe I still am," he adds, tone a little wry. "Never imagined I'd go for a bloke, but I can't picture anyone else being... right for me the way you are."

"Are you for me?" James quotes softly.

Robbie reaches out to touch James's cheek. "I think I am," he answers, just as softly.

"And I'm for you," James answers.

Robbie smiles. He looks a bit… wobbly. But good wobbly. Wobbly in the way you would look if you'd just come across something unbelievably valuable and found you got to keep it for yourself forever.

"Promise?" Robbie whispers.

James nods. "I promise."

"Well, then," Robbie murmurs. "Give us a kiss."

James leans in, and Robbie meets him halfway. Just as it should be.

* * *

"I know what we're going to do about the job," James says later, as they carry on strolling, now with his arm around Robbie's shoulders and Robbie's around his waist.

"Oh?"

"I'm going to talk to Innocent about transferring to a different role - something along the lines of what you suggested. And you're going to retire. I know you've been thinking about it. You only held back because of me, didn't you?"

Robbie pulls a face. "Didn't think you were ready for me to leave yet. Not that you're not ready for promotion - you're more than - but it's more than about that."

James nods. "I didn't want to lose you. But now I don't have to. So." He hugs Robbie closer. "You'll retire, and - if you want, of course - we'll move in together."

"Couldn't do that if we were still working together, true," Robbie agrees. "Yeah, sounds like a decent plan."

James's lips twitch. "I'm not just a pretty face, you know."

"Nah, I'm the brains, remember?"

James laughs. "You are indeed." And he is; if it had been left up to James, none of this would have happened. It took the cleverness and courage of Robbie Lewis to work out what was going on with him and find a solution, and in doing so to change both their lives, in ways James never would have dreamed could happen. 

Yes, Robbie Lewis is nothing short of a genius.

* * *


End file.
